sured her.

The cab arrived within a few minutes, and she gave an address off
Riverside Drive. It took half an hour to make the run. On the journey
the three remained silent save for a few commonplaces, for conversation
seemed to have a disquieting effect upon young Arsdale. The lighted
houses flashed past the carriage windows in the soft spring dark,
looking like specks of gold upon black velvet. A certain motherliness
pervaded the night; there was a suggestion of birth everywhere.
Donaldson responded to it with a growing feeling of anticipation.
Sitting here confronting this girl he was swept back to a primal joy of
things, to a sense of new worlds. He felt for a moment as though back
again with her in that gypsy kingdom into which the music had borne
them.

The cab swung from the boulevard and, after following for a few moments
a somewhat tortuous course among side streets, stopped before an iron
gate which stretched across the drive leading to the house. Either
side of the gate a high hedge extended. The three stepped out and
Donaldson paused a moment before dismissing the cabby. The girl saw
his hesitancy and in her turn seemed rapidly to revolve some question
in her own mind. A quick motion on the part of her brother determined
her. In the shadow of the house he began to show ill-boding symptoms.

"I wonder if--if you would come in for a minute," she asked in an
undertone.

Without answer he dismissed the driver and followed her through a small
gate in the hedge, down a short walk, to a brown-stone house with its
entrance on a level with the ground. The house was unlighted and the
lower windows were covered with wooden shutters. In the midst of its
brilliantly lighted neighbors it looked severe and inhospitable. The
girl drew a key from her purse and, opening the door, stepped inside
and switched on the lights. Donaldson found himself in a large,
cheerful looking hall finished in Flemish oak. A broad Colonial
staircase led from the end and swung upstairs in a graceful turn which
formed a landing. The floor was covered with rugs which he recognized
as of almost priceless value. Several oil portraits in heavy frames
ornamented the walls. It took but a glance to see that they were of
the same family and to recognize in all their thin faces an expression
that he had caught in young Arsdale himself--a haunting fear as of some
family tragedy. Through an uncurtained door to the right opened what
a